


I'm Just a Moment, So Don't Let Me Pass You By

by ramee



Category: One Direction
Genre: Fluff, M/M, cal is done with everyone, harry has tinnitus, harry likes turkey sandwiches, he doesn't rlly care tho, idk - Freeform, lou is excited, louis is very endeared by harry's stupid face, some pining i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramee/pseuds/ramee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a rock star and Louis is a doctor. They fall in love.</p><p>(<a href="http://hello-larry-love-yay.tumblr.com/post/115391279423/im-just-a-moment-so-dont-let-me-pass-you-by">read in polish here</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just a Moment, So Don't Let Me Pass You By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etamine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etamine/gifts).



> Written for the Autumn Cozy Fic Exchange  
> for etamine,  
> I hope you like it and I'm really sorry if it isn't what you were expecting. I tried my best and I know it's kind of short and kind of underdeveloped, but I was on a time constraint. I can always go back and change things, or even write a sequel. I hope you enjoy <3

Harry Styles likes to believe that he is a relatively simple man. Though he is technically considered one of the wealthiest, most famous people in the world (currently--this will not be forever. He likes to live with minimal expectations), he does not spend his riches extensively, nor does he use his celebrity status for anything other than making music. Well, occasionally, he'll use his name to get a free drink in a bar, but. The rockstar life has got to have at least _some_ perks.

When he started making money, he bought himself a house and a car, and everything else is collecting dust in his bank account. He's been known to wear a designer-name shirt or some expensive boots once in a while, but other than that, he considers himself fairly low-maintenance. Which means that he doesn't like to ask anyone for help. Like, ever.

It's not that he's too proud, or that he doesn't think he needs help. It's just that he detests having to put his burdens on other people. He doesn't want to make anyone else deal with his problems.

Which is why he decides to not bring it up when his ear starts hurting.

He figures that it's nothing—he's grown accustomed to the deafening sound of screaming fans, and sometimes his ears continue to ring for hours after a show. They're bound to hurt sometimes. But this doesn't go away, and eventually, he can no longer ignore it.

“You alright, H?” Lou is his hair and makeup artist-slash-tour mum, and whenever he even shows the slighest hint of being a bit down, she's on the case.

“Fine, yeah. Ear hurts a bit.” Harry replies, shrugging.

“Maybe we should get you to a doctor,” Lou says, because she knows that if something is bothering Harry enough for him to actually bring it to anyone else's attention, it was something serious.

“That's really not necessary,” Harry tells her, although he knows he's fighting a losing battle. “I'll be fine. Might just lie down a bit before the show.”

But, much to be expected, Harry found himself the next day sitting on the tour bus, waiting for the arrival of a doctor that was going to see what was going on with his ear.

“I really don't need a doctor,” he tells his bodyguard Cal, who shakes his head. “I'm fine.”

“Just humour us, alright? We can't have our precious little rockstar having to sit out shows, can we?”

Harry manages to get in a quick kick to Cal's shin before the doctor walks in.

His eyes are strikingly blue, Harry notices first. His skin is tan and his cheekbones are to die for, and he's got brown, feathery hair that Harry would quite like to get his hands in to. Wow. Wow. Wow.

“Hello?” the man asks in a cheerful voice. He shakes Cal's hand before turning to Harry. “You must be Harry Styles.”

Harry smiles politely, trying to shake the overwhelming attraction from the forefront of his consciousness. “Harry's fine, thanks.”

The doctor nods. “Alright, well, I'm Louis Tomlinson. I've been told you've got something a bit wrong with your ear?”

Louis Tomlinson. Rolls of the tongue, Harry thinks. He says it a few times over in his head before remembering that he's been asked a question.

“Uh, yeah. Been aching a bit for a week or so now.”

Louis nods. “Well, I'd imagine with all the screaming girls outside your ears have seen better days, yeah? Was just about trampled on my way in.”

Harry blushes. “Sorry about that. Gets a bit crazy.”

“No problem, mate. Nothing wrong with being manhandled now and again, yes?”

Harry tries his absolute best to not read into the connotations there, and Cal clears his throat. Louis continues: “Um, yes. Okay. So, shall we have a look?”

Harry nods and sits up a bit straighter, tilting his head to the side to allow better access to the ear in question.

Louis takes out a small flashlight and a pocketscope from his black leather bag, slowly pushing a tendril of hair hanging down in front of Harry's ear to the side. Shivers run down Harry's spine. Cal clears his throat again.

The examination goes quickly—Louis pokes and prods around Harry's ear, occasionally making small humming noises and stopping to scribble something onto his clipboard. Eventually, he puts away his equipment and Harry turns to face him.

“It looks like you might have tinnitus.” Louis says slowly.

“What's that?” Harry asks. That doesn't sound good.

“It's a condition that can be induced by noise-related inner-ear damage. How long did you say your ear has been ringing?”

“I don't know,” Harry says truthfully. “A week, maybe? I don't know.”

Louis scribbles something again onto his clipboard. Harry shifts in his seat.

“Okay. Well, it looks as if the excessive noise has caused some damage to your ear, and you might have some minor hearing loss which will cause the ringing.”

“Will it go away?” Harry asks hopefully. Though he'd tried his best to ignore it, the ringing in his ears really has been bothering him.

“Probably. We've caught it fairly early, and with time and rest, most or all of your hearing may come back. You do need to take it easy, however,” Louis says, cocking an eyebrow and trying his best to look stern. It's heartbreakingly adorable, and Harry's heart swells. “It could become permanent if you're not careful.”

Harry nods. “What can I do?”

Louis takes a seat beside Harry, so close that the younger man can feel the heat radiating from the doctor's skin. He fights the urge to chase that warmth. “Wear noise-cancelling headphones whenever you can. When you're on stage, make sure that you have protective in-ears at all times that cancel out the sound of the crowds. Sleep a lot.”

“'A lot?' Is that the medical term?” Harry teases, lips formed into a smirk.

“I'm just trying to simplify it for you, love,” Louis says with a smile. Harry tries not to squeal at the nickname. “I'm assuming young, hot rockstars didn't have time to go to uni?”

So you think I'm hot, Harry wants to say. “Alright, sorry not all of us went to med school to become—” he pauses. “What is an ear doctor called?”

“An audiologist,” Louis says quickly, almost as if he'd been practicing ways to one-up Harry. “But I'm an otolarygologist. Ears, noses, _and_ throats.”

“Wow,” Harry says, feigning awe. “Amazing. You must pull a lot of girls when they find out how skilled you are.”

It just slips out. Really. Harry had not at all been trying to fish out Louis' sexual preferences. Not even a little bit.

“Maybe, yeah,” Louis says, nodding. “Girls aren't really my type, though. The utter lack of a penis is kind of a dealbreaker for me.”

Cal is gone at this point, having slipped out at some point while Louis and Harry were too involved in their witty banter to notice.

“Exactly. Why date someone without a penis when you can date someone with a penis?”

“Beautiul,” Louis says with a laugh. “Said like a true wordsmith. You should've been a poet.”

“I'm a songwriter, isn't that close enough?” Harry replies, leaning a bit closer to Louis.

The older man seems to ponder this for a moment. “No, it's not. Sorry, love. I'm going to need you to write me a poem. Now, please.”

Harry laughs incredously. “ _Now_?”

“Yes, Harold. I've just given you a brilliant diagnosis in this hot, smelly bus, and now you owe me a poem.”

“ _Brilliant_ ,” Harry mocks, before leaning against the backrest of the sofa. “Fine, okay. I can write a poem.”

“Prove it.”

Harry pauses for a moment. “Roses are red, violet's are blue,” he begins, “Louis is brilliant, but he smells like poo.”

Louis hesitates before laughing out loud at Harry's thoughtful, concentrated expression. “That was terrible. I'm offended.”

Harry smiles and smacks Louis' arm. “Hey! I worked hard on that.”

“You did not,” Louis tells him. “I'll give you a four out of ten for the utter lack of creativity.”

Harry sighs. “How about this one?” He clears his throat. “Roses are red, Louis' eyes are blue, he's very cute, and I am too!”

“You are cute, I'll give you that,” Louis tells him, laughing. Green and blue lock together, and Harry leans in. He leans in, and he takes a chance, and his eyes slip closed, and just as soon as he feels the faintest hint of Louis' lips against his, Louis pulls away.

“I should go.” He hesitates before standing up hastily, shoving his things into his bag before putting aside a crumpled piece of paper to write on quickly. “Here, take this,” he says, pushing the page into Harry's hands. “I—yeah. Bye.” And then he's gone.

*~*~*

Once Harry is able to decipher Louis' handwriting, he discovers that the page is just instructions on how to take care of his ear—clean regularly, sleep often, wear noise-cancelling headphones as much as possible. He's only a little disappointed that Louis hadn't left his number or a note or _anything_.

He sulks for a few days, following his instructions reluctantly, only shrugging when Lou asks him what's got him so distraught. Or, more acurately, “What's his name this time, H?”

“You say that like I shag boys all the time,” Harry says. And he doesn't. Really.

“Oh, so you _shagged_ him?” Lou asks with a wide smile.”

“I did not _shag_ him, thank you very much,” Harry replies, sitting down to eat the turkey sandwich he'd just made for himself, expecting to get to enjoy it in peace.

“It's the doctor that came in last week, innit?” Cal says from off to the side. Harry grabs the first thing he can find and half-heartedly tosses it in his bodyguard's directions. He's pretty sure it's a shoe. Cal just laughs.

Cal and Lou launch into a conversation about Louis (“What was his arse like?” “Lou, I didn't look at his arse” “You should always look at his arse”) while Harry buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Aw, Hare-Bear,” Lou says, reaching over to wrap her arms around Harry's shoulders. “I'm sure he was entranced by your dimples and he'll be back to shag you into oblivion. Or you'll shag him.” She pauses. “You know, one of these days you'll really have to explain to me how gay sex works.”

Harry laughs despite himself, and let's Lou pull him into her. “You'll be fine, love,” she whispers. “Promise.”

*~*~*

A few weeks of ringing ears and late-night wanks to the memory of Louis' voice—Harry isn't pathetic, not at all, he tells himself—pass, and Harry's almost given up on ever seeing the bright-eyed lad again. Just when he's about to agree to one of Niall's many offers to get absolutely smashed, Louis makes another appearance.

He's sitting in a bakery somewhere in downtown London because he's decided that if he's meant to properly get over Louis, he'll need comfort food. And carbs. Mostly carbs.

“Harry?”

He turns around to see none other than Louis standing behind him, all tan skin and tiny waist, and Harry's heart actually stops beating for a moment. He's always been pretty sure that only happened in, like, poems, but.

“Hi,” Harry says quietly. “Louis. Hi.”

Louis chuckles softly at Harry's flustered expression. “Hi. How are you? The ear doing alright?”

“Er, yeah. I guess,” Harry says. “Still hurts a bit. I've been following your instructions.”

“Good,” Louis says, smiling. “May I sit down?”

“Of course, yeah,” Harry says without thinking. Louis takes a seat across from him.

“I wanted to apologize,” Louis begins, looking bashful. “for the other week. I shouldn't have left like that.”

“That's alright, really,” Harry says. “I shouldn't have tried to kiss you.”

“No,” Louis says. “I should have let you.”

And, _what_.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Louis continues. “I figured it'd be unprofessional. I was your doctor and all.”

“Was,” Harry repeats. “You're not anymore.”

“Well, that depends,” Louis says. “Do you think I need to take another look at your ear?”

“Nope,” Harry replies all-too-quickly. “You don't. I've been cured. Miraculous, really.”

Louis laughs. “Well, then I suppose it's not inappropriate for me to ask for your number?”

“No, not at all.” Harry straightens up in his seat, hands fumbling. “Appropriate. Very. Yes, number. Yes.”

Louis laughs again and Harry feels very warm inside as he scribbles his number on a tea-stained napkin.

“I've got to run, love, I'm on my lunch break,” Louis tells him, tucking the napkin in his front pocket. “I'll text you?”

“Yes, do that,” Harry says. “Text me, yes. Yeah.”

Louis smiles wide and toothy, leaning down to press a soft, slow kiss to Harry's cheek before leaving the bakery, bell chiming to signify his exit.

Harry sits there smiling into his donut for a moment when his phone pings.

There's a text from an unknown number, and Harry knows exactly who the sender is.

“ _Roses are red, violets are blue. You think I'm cute, and I like you quite a lot, too_.”


End file.
